Stela prepared to open the door, but Felitïa held up a hand for her to wait.

She had a small army of servants now, and diminutive Stela was just one. She didn’t want them, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her mother had assigned them, and dismissing them would get them in trouble more than it would her. Army was not truly an accurate word but it felt accurate. Even one servant would have felt like a lot. Five made her feel swarmed. Worse, she felt exposed. Not just because she had very little clothes on most of the time they were around, but because of the physical proximity, the constant touching. They insisted on bathing her, dressing her, doing her hair.

She recalled this sort of thing when she lived in the palace. She didn’t remember it bothering her so much, but then, at the time, she hadn’t known anything else. Now, she was far too used to doing these kinds of things herself. She didn’t need to be waited on hand and foot like a princess. Except she was a princess, and for the time being she couldn’t get away from being treated like one.

She had just sat through a session with another servant, Noma, doing her hair and make-up. She now had ribbons weaved through her hair and her face’s angular features had been smoothed out—which Noma insisted was important. Felitïa wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t have experience with this sort of thing. Make-up was a luxury she couldn’t afford at Elderaan’s. And she had to admit, the final result didn’t look bad.

She did worry these servants were spying on her for her mother, but Ardon assured her only one had been a spy and he had seen to it that that one had been reassigned and replaced with one more trustworthy. Ardon wouldn’t confirm which one was the replacement, but she suspected it was Marna. It was otherwise a big coincidence that the random servant who had first shown her to her apartments would be one of the ones her mother assigned. But Felitïa had mentioned the girl to Ardon, so it made sense he might pick her. So now she worried that Marna and maybe one or more of the other servants were spying on her for him. She had very fond memories of Ardon, but she wouldn’t put it past him. He had spies everywhere.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Ardon, Garet, and, most importantly, Quilla were waiting for her in the next room. She had tried for two days to arrange this meeting. In the Room in her head, she brought up the line of people and moved along it, past Corvinian, whose wound was almost healed, to Quilla. So long she had had that image in her head and she was only now going to meet her! She still had no idea why Quilla was different, why her image was clear without having met her. Was it her possible relationship to Corvinian? Or just that Felitïa had heard her name?

Felitïa nodded and Stela opened the door.

Ardon was sitting in the same chair he had sat in two days earlier when she had first arrived, while Garet was pacing about the room. Seated in the chaise longue was Quilla looking exactly as she did in the Room—except the real Quilla was wearing clothes: a light, but elegant red kirtle and red ribbons in her short, dark hair. A small, heart-shaped locket hung on a slender chain around her neck.

“Brains!” Garet strode over to her and gave her an intense bear hug.

Felitïa coughed as he let go of her and she could get her breath back. “Garet.”

“Quilla, this is my run-away sister, Felitïa. The one we all thought was dead, but was actually hiding out becoming a bloody wizard. Felitïa, this is my fiancée, Quilla.”

Quilla stood up and curtsied. “Your Highness.” She had a southern accent, similar to the one that the representatives of Amar Padara that she and Elderaan had frequently dealt with at the shop had.

“Just Felitïa, please.”

“Of course, Felitïa,” Quilla said.

Garet put an arm around Quilla’s shoulders. “I call her Brains because she always liked to believe she was smarter than the rest of us.”

“She was smarter than the rest of you,” Ardon said.

Garet scowled. “Yeah, well, she didn’t have to rub our faces in it, did she?”

“I’ll just call her Felitïa if that’s okay, Garet,” Quilla said.

Garet smiled. “Oh yeah, of course.” He leaned over and gave Quilla a quick kiss on the lips, then let go of her and strode back over to Felitïa. “Brains is just between the two of us. Right, Brains?” He squeezed her tight and when he let go, Felitïa had to rub her shoulder. Gods, he was ridiculously strong.

“Maybe just call me Felitïa, too?”

“Sure thing, Brains.”

Amusement was oozing from him. He was getting a kick out of what he’d call “just teasing”. The problem was, there was no way to respond. He would take whatever she said and make it work for him.

“Garet, be nice,” Quilla said. “She’s your sister.”

“Half-sister,” he said.

Quilla put her hands on her hips and glared at Garet.

Garet raised his hands. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Felitïa. I won’t call you Brains anymore.”

Felitïa grinned at Quilla. “You’ll need to teach me how to control him like that.”

“Oh, it’s not that hard,” Quilla said.

“Hey, nobody controls me, okay? I do things—”

“His Grace tells us you have something important to tell us,” Quilla interrupted him. “That it might have something to do with...” She hesitated and Felitïa detected a flash of fear from her. “Volgs.”

“Yes,” Felitïa replied.

“I think you’ll be interested in what Garet and Quilla have to say, Felitïa,” Ardon said. “Perhaps you should all take a seat.” He snapped his fingers towards Stela. “We’ll want some refreshments.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The petite Eloorin hurried over to the table by the window where a decanter of wine and several glasses sat waiting. While she began pouring, Quilla sat down in the chaise longue again and Felitïa took a chair beside her. Garet paced a bit before plopping down in a chair off to the side. He bounded right back to his feet at a knock from the main doors.

The guard Felitïa’s mother had stationed on her apartments opened the door and announced that Zandrue had arrived. Zandrue strode right past him, stopped, and gaped. “Wow,” she mouthed.

Felitïa went over to her. “Everyone, this is my friend, Zandrue.”

After they had dealt with the introductions, they all took seats again—although Garet fidgeted in his. Stela passed wine round to them. Garet downed his in one gulp and handed the cup back.

“Felitïa, perhaps you should begin,” Ardon said.

Felitïa took a deep breath. Quilla was looking at her with wide eyes. The best thing to do was get straight to the point. “Quilla, does the name Corvinian mean anything to you?”

Quilla’s eyes widened even more and her jaw quivered. A convoluted mix of emotions—surprise, fear, disbelief, happiness, excitement—swarmed from her. She looked to be trying to say something, but couldn’t quite form the words.

“Corvinian?” Garet said. He looked at Quilla. “Wasn’t that what you called your kid?”

Quilla nodded.

“You better start talking, Brains.”

Felitïa, with some help from Zandrue, began explaining everything that had happened concerning Corvinian, as well as everything else that seemed related, even if only peripherally, including the Darkers’ attack at the time of Corvinian’s birth and Felitïa’s vision of Quilla and the others. Garet started to comment several times, but Ardon shushed him each time. By the time Felitïa finished, Quilla was sobbing in Garet’s arms, while anger and rage emanated from him.

“I’m sorry to upset you,” Felitïa said. “We really did everything we could, and we’re still—”

“Shut the fuck up, Brains, and give her a moment.”

Felitïa nodded and leaned back in her chair. Zandrue placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

After a minute or so, Garet helped Quilla back onto the chaise longue and sat with her while she laid her head on his chest, a few tears still dripping down her face, leaving lines in her make-up.

Felitïa was not surprised Quilla was upset. It couldn’t be easy to learn of a son she hadn’t seen for years, and to then learn he’d been taken by Volgs. However, there was something else buried in the jumble of feelings Felitïa was receiving from her. Almost like a sense of familiarity, as if she wasn’t surprised by the tale, but rather that it confirmed fears she already had.

Ardon snapped his fingers again at Stela, who brought more wine round. Garet downed two more glasses, but Quilla refused more. Felitïa realised she hadn’t even touched hers, so also shook her head.

“Thank you,” Ardon said, taking a glass for himself. “Perhaps you should tell your tale, Quilla.”

Garet looked at Quilla, who nodded. “I’ll do it. It’s hard for her. But I’m gonna need more wine.”

Stela hurried back over to the window and started to pour another glass.

“Just bring me the whole fucking thing.”

Stela curtsied and hurried back. Garet took the decanter and frowned at how little was left in it.

“I can send for more, your Highness.”

Garet just shook his head and waved her away. He took a gulp of the wine. “Quilla was married years ago to a man named Dyle.”

“You mean—?” Felitïa began, but Ardon shushed her. She sighed and fell silent.

“Yeah, I guess it’s probably the same Dyle that attacked you,” Garet said. “Anyway, their marriage started okay, but soon had problems. She says he was always kind and loving towards her, but he could be cruel to other people, and he kept having late-night meetings with people he wouldn’t tell her about. Then one day she learned the meaning of a tattoo he had.” Garet chuckled. “On his butt.”

“Let me guess,” Zandrue said. “A goat’s skull?”

Ardon shushed her and she glared at him, but Garet answered the question. “Yep. She learned its meaning by chance when she told a friend about the tattoo. She didn’t know anything about Darkers.”

He gulped down the rest of the wine, then waved the decanter in Stela’s direction. The servant hurried over to take it from him.

“Anyway, once she knew what her husband was, she decided she had to get out of there, so she made some preparations and took off one day while he was off at one of his meetings.”

“I don’t know how he knew I was pregnant,” Quilla said, sitting up. She used a handkerchief to wipe the tears on her face. “I didn’t even know yet.”

It only then sunk in for Felitïa. While she had guessed that Quilla was Corvinian’s birth mother, she had never suspected that Dyle was his father.

“He sent people after me,” Quilla continued. “Everywhere I went, there were people looking for me. I travelled as far away as I could, moving farther and farther north. For a short while just before and after Corvinian was born, I thought I’d lost them. But then they found us again. When one group almost caught me, I realised I couldn’t keep him. I couldn’t put him through a life of running. So I gave him up to the people you met. I’m glad to know they raised him well.”

She paused to deal with more tears. After a moment, she went on. “I kept running for a year, but slowly, they stopped coming. There were fewer and fewer. I thought maybe they were finally giving up, or I’d finally given them the slip. After a while, I realised it might even be possible to return to a normal life. Except I now regretted giving Corvinian up. But I couldn’t just go take him back, could I? I couldn’t break his new parents’ hearts, as much as it broke mine to let him go. But I made do. Until...”

Felitïa could sense fear rising in Quilla—a fear greater than what she had felt remembering running from Dyle. Quilla’s hands were shaking, and Garet put an arm around her.

“Until the Volgs came for me.” Her voice cracked. “They took me.”

“Shit,” Zandrue muttered.

“That’s where I come in,” Garet said. “I saved her.” Quilla nodded and he smiled.

“Like my knight in shining armour,” Quilla said.

Well, that would have certainly inflated his ego, Felitïa thought.

“Except I didn’t have shining armour.”

“Or a horse,” Quilla added. “But you were close enough.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“I found their hideout, charged to the rescue, killed a bunch of them, and sent the rest running.”

“You found their hideout?” Zandrue said. “How’d you even know she’d been kidnapped?”

Quilla smirked and sniffled. “He didn’t find it. He just stumbled across it.”

“Same thing,” Garet said. “I’ll admit I could barely believe my eyes when I saw the first one. It came out of a cave, then flew off. It never noticed me. Well, I needed to know more, so I investigated the cave, found them, and the rest is history.”

“What were you doing there in the first place?” Felitïa asked.

He shrugged and waved his hand. “It’s not important.”

“He was meeting a woman,” Quilla said.

“Okay, fine, I was meeting a woman and I didn’t want anyone to know. She never showed, but that’s okay, because I ended up meeting this much better woman right here.” He gave Quilla a squeeze.

“So there you have it,” Ardon said. He finished the last of his wine and motioned for Stela to take the glass. “I think you’ll agree that this was an enlightening conversation.”

“It has been,” Felitïa said. “Though I still have a lot of questions.”

Ardon stood up. “I’m afraid those will have to wait. We all need to get ready for the banquet.”

Felitïa sighed. She’d almost forgotten about that.

As if in response to Ardon’s words—as though he had timed it perfectly—there was a knock and the main doors opened. Marna entered with the tailor who was preparing her gown for this evening. They carried the finished product between them.

Felitïa had been fitted for it shortly after she had arrived in the palace, in preparation for this banquet. Now that her brothers Malef, Pastrin, and Thilin had returned from their hunt, her father had ordered that the banquet should not be delayed any longer. It was in honour of her return to the palace, and she was not looking forward to it.